


On the Other Shore

by Strangeredlantern, Vague_Shadows



Series: Places in the Heart [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Relationship, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, College Student Stiles, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, EMT Isaac Lahey, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kid Fic, M/M, Night Terrors, Parenthood, Past Child Abuse, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6404038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/pseuds/Strangeredlantern, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Isaac have started building a life together with Eloise, but they still have a lot to work through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for your patience!!! School has hit both of us hard this year, and we haven't had as much time as we'd like to spend with our boys. Hope you enjoy part two!

> **“It was the time when they loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity. Life would still present them with other mortal trials, of course, but that no longer mattered: they were on the other shore. ” -Gabriel García Márquez**
> 
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* * *

 

 

 

Like the universe somehow knew that Stiles and Isaac would be fighting, their schedules are conveniently arranged so that they won’t really have to see each other until after dinner if they don’t want to. After this morning, it was pretty clear that Isaac had no intention of seeing him if he really didn’t need to.  Stiles hates the weird purgatory they’ve descended into following the brief, fifteen minute bliss in the wake of Isaac passing his EMT exam.  Initially, he’d thought they were back to square one, but now it’s worse somehow.  Square one was Isaac struggling to trust him and be vulnerable because that’s something Isaac always struggles with; this is Isaac pulling away because he feels betrayed.

As adamantly as Stiles believes he was right to tell Melissa and Dad, he knows he can’t really understand what the sharing of the secret does to Isaac.  He’s trying to give Isaac time and space, but the uncertainty and the distance between them just puts a constant nagging ache in Stiles’ chest. He can’t help but feel like Isaac should have started forgiving by now.  It’s been _weeks_ after all, and Stiles is only human.  He shoves the resentful musing to the back of his mind and focuses on the matter at hand: his advisement meeting.

Stiles tries not to fidget too much as he sits in the hideous green chair outside his advisor’s office.  He’s got nothing to worry about really; he’s checked and re-checked his records to make sure he’s on track to graduate.  He’s actually _ahead_ of schedule.  At least he’s pretty sure he is.  Unless he totally missed something, in which case maybe he’s totally screwed.   _That’s_ what makes him nervous about these meetings.  The potential that he’s somehow managed to royally fuck up and neglect some critical part of the scheduling somehow.  

“Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles nearly jumps out of his chair at the sound of his name, so lost in thought and worry that he didn’t hear the office door open.

“I--uh--yeah,” he replies, rising to his feet.  “You can call me Stiles, Mr. Johnson,” he adds.  “The whole last name thing makes me feel like I’m being sent to the principal's office,” he confesses with a nervous laugh.

“Quite the contrary,” Mr. Johnson replies with a kind smile.  “I just finished glancing over your transcripts, and I have to say this is the kind of advisement meeting I actually look forward to.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.  Come on in and have a seat so we can explore some of your options.”

Stiles follows him into the slightly dingy office that smells too strongly of some floral air freshener.  He takes a seat in the faux leather chair opposite Mr. Johnson’s desk, glancing at the papers on the desk detailing his time in college.  What catches his eye is a stack of brochures off to the side; the top one reads in white-on-navy “Federal Bureau of Investigation Internship Program.”

“Dude, really?” he blurts before he can stop himself.

“I’m sorry, what?” Mr. Johnson replies.

“Sorry, totally got ahead of things, I just--” Stiles replies, motioning vaguely at the stack of pamphlets.  “FBI Internship? Seriously? _Me_?”

“I have some information for you on several organizations,” Mr. Johnson replies.  “You should definitely start looking at options for after graduation.”

“I just kinda of--I dunno--Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department was always the plan; I never really thought about anyplace else.”

“Well, I encourage you to look at several options, Stiles, with your grades and test scores and some solid letters of recommendation, there really are a lot of open doors for you.  You never quite have as wide a range of options as you do fresh out of your undergraduate degree.  It would be a shame to waste an opportunity because you set your sights a little too narrowly.”

“Right,” Stiles agrees absentmindedly, trying to focus on the conversation at hand as his brain is wandering through more ideas of jobs he always figured were too much of a long shot for him.

“Not that there’s anything at all wrong with following in your father’s footsteps,” Mr. Johnson adds.  “Beacon Hills would be lucky to have you; I’m sure.”

“Thanks.”

“So, let’s take a look at the course load you have planned for the year, make sure it’s all in order, and then we’ll discuss the application process for some of the post-graduate opportunities.  Sound good?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

 

*****************************************

 

            Stiles sits in the Jeep for a moment in total silence, staring down at all the pamphlets that Mr. Johnson gave him.  There are so many questions to consider before he could even _begin_ applying.  Does he really want to branch out, or is following the BHPD plan he’s had since he was five years old enough for him? What about Dad? What about Eloise?  And, the most volatile, uncertain question of them all: What about Isaac?

            He bites nervously at his lip as he flips through the pages again.  Mr. Johnson is probably just being nice.  He probably hasn’t got that great a chance at any of these.  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to apply to a few, just for the hell of it.  No way he’s getting selected.  Even if by some miracle he _did_ it’s not like he _has_ to accept or anything.  It could just be a cool thing to boost his ego a bit or something.

            He takes a deep breath, shoving the pile of pamphlets into the glove box for now.  He’ll look at the websites later, see if applying is more trouble than it’s worth.  For now, it’s kind of nice just to realize that he managed to buckle down in college and come out ahead of the game.  He starts the Jeep, grinning when “We Are the Champions” is playing on the local classic rock station like some cosmic sign that this is a great day to be Stiles Stilinski.  He cranks up the volume as he pulls out of the lot, drumming along to the song on the steering wheel and singing horribly off-key the whole way home.

 

**********************************

 

Isaac finishes up the last drops of his coffee as he parks the car in the lot.  He keep waiting to feel as ambivalent about arriving at this job as he did about arriving at the graveyard, but the newness still hasn’t worn off.  He still gets a rush of accomplishment every time he puts on the uniform, every time he steps out of the car, every time he climbs up in the rig. It’s not the most glamorous job in the world, but he worked his ass off to get here.  Damn, if he isn’t loving every minute.

Well, almost every minute.

There are the minutes of stress and sadness intermingled with triumph.  Possibly worse are the mundane moments when his mind has a chance to wander.  It’s been a few weeks now since everything that happened to dull the victory of passing his certification test.  He’s only seen John and Melissa a few times, but it’s been more than enough to know they’re never going to get back to normal; they know now.  Isaac feels like he’s got “pity me” tattooed on his forehead, despite their obvious attempts to maintain business as usual.  Stiles still doesn’t see what’s so infuriating and embarrassing about sharing Isaac’s secret, but Isaac can’t shake the feeling of betrayal.

_One person since I was twelve.  I told one person.  And he told two.  How many do they tell? How far does it go? How long before everyone’s giving me those pathetic, sad faces like I’m a fragile little egg that could shatter any second? What if they think I’m dangerous? What if this gives everyone more reasons to distrust me than they’ve already got?_

_What if they take Eloise away?_

_Goddammit, why did he have to tell?_

“Earth to Lahey,” a deep voice cuts across.  Isaac realizes he’s walked on autopilot into the building and to his locker, but now he’s standing wordlessly just staring.  

He shakes his head like he can get rid of the fog of bitterness, but it lingers of course.  Nevertheless he focuses his attention on the man standing a few lockers away, Vernon Boyd, his work partner. It’s been nice to have a vaguely familiar face in such a new environment. Boyd’s quiet and straight to the point, and it suits Isaac just fine. In a way, it’s better than being with Stiles at this point, who always has an air of hovering worry with every sentence. It’s been driving him crazy, and he doesn’t want to go home to it. He hasn’t wished this badly to avoid his own house since Erica was around.

“Sorry, what?”

“Still waiting for that coffee to kick in, I guess,” Boyd comments.  “I just asked if you’d started the driving course yet.”

“Oh, no, not yet,” Isaac replies.  “Next week.”

“Know your instructor yet?”

“Brown I think? Maybe Gray,” Isaac replies.  “One of those color last names,” he adds with a shrug.

“As long as it’s not Snedecki,” Boyd says.  “That guy’s a real ass.”

“No, not him.”

“Good.”

They finish readying for work in silence, stowing lunch boxes and personal effects and taking out their stethoscopes and notebooks.  Isaac grabs his radio, emblazoned with a tacky “14” made out of bright yellow electrical tape that distinguishes it from all the other clunky numbered units on the charging station.  Boyd’s right behind him as he heads out to the bay to start the assessment of the rig and all the gear in the back; it’s tedious, but they’re efficient.  Just as they finish up the checklists, the tone goes off, paging them to a call of chest pains at the park.

“And we’re off,” Boyd says as he climbs into the driver’s side.

Isaac tries to keep a grin off his face as the garage door opens, and they drive out of the bay.   After all, it’s a little messed up to get excited that someone might be hurt or dying; then again, he’s only excited at the prospect of getting to fix it, so maybe he’s not too messed up.  Either way, there’s one thing for sure.

_I fucking love this job._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Please note that as we continue with the story, so the rating will change. We'll also be adding tags as appropriate. If you think there might be a tag missing, please don't hesitate to let us know! We'll add it right away. 
> 
> Perhaps you've noticed that our little one-shot "Holiday Ties" has been removed. That's because it was always meant to be integrated into this part of the PITH universe! Take heart, because it means that we have a lot already written for the series, and you won't have to wait as long as you might expect for updates.
> 
> We're excited to be back, writing in this universe, and excited to have you along for the ride!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for self-harm (see end notes for details). Take care of yourselves, loves!
> 
> Reminder that Isaac's POV is bolded, and Stiles is no bolded.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

**Isaac gets off work more than a little exhausted.  It’s not the longest day he’s had, or the hardest, but he could potentially crash for a few hours of sleep without much trouble.  Instead, he starts a pot of coffee while he eats the other half of his lunch he never got to finish.  His phone rings a few minutes later, Melissa’s face popping up on the caller ID.**

**“Hello?” he answers.**

**“Hi sweetie, just checking if you’re home yet,” she replies.**

**She used to only ever call Stiles and Scott pet names like “sweetie.”  She’s only started doing the same to Isaac since she found out about everything.  It makes him resent what should be a nice step toward feeling included in the family--another constant reminder of betrayal Isaac hasn’t been able to shake.**

**“Yeah,” he replies, “I’m home.”**

**“Okay, well, I’ll drop Eloise off soon then.”**

**“Thanks.”**

**“No problem.”**

**It became clear when Stiles started looking at his class schedule for fall that it was going to be a lot more difficult to work out his final year with just morning or just evening classes and still graduate on time.  It’s not any easier for Isaac either, now that he’s the newest EMT at the contractor who hired him--a job he can’t help but think has something to do with John’s decades-long friendship with the owner--and that means he hasn’t got a lot of say with scheduling yet.  They looked at daycare options, but John and Melissa were quick to offer not-exactly-grandparent services.  Isaac’s pretty sure it was partly motivated as an apology, but he also isn’t going to sacrifice Ellie’s care for his own pride; John and Melissa seem like a better alternative to daycare, at the very least it was an option worth trying.**

**He finishes his lunch and dozes on the couch for a few minutes, getting a little bit of relaxation in before Eloise gets home and needs his full attention.  It seems only seconds before the doorbell rings, rousing Isaac from his place on the couch.  Melissa and John both have house keys now, but they’re careful about boundaries, which Isaac appreciates.  He hasn’t interacted with them very much the past few weeks.  He supposes they assume giving him time will help.  But time isn’t going to change what Stiles told them.  They know, and now they can’t unknow.  And Dad is ruining this new life from the goddamn grave.**

**_Why the fuck did Stiles think he could tell them?_ ** **Isaac wonders bitterly for what must be the millionth time.**

**Melissa greets him with a smile that’s a little too enthusiastic, like she’s trying to make up for the awkwardness of the truth hanging between them.  Isaac tries not to glower at the sight of it; she’s doing him a favor after all.  Ellie couldn’t ask for a better caregiver.**

**“Iyyak!” Ellie greets joyfully, pulling a genuine smile from Isaac as she reaches her arms out toward him.**

**“Hey, sweetheart,” he replies, reaching to take her from Melissa’s arms.  “You have a good day today? You behave yourself?” he asks, though he looks to Melissa for the real answer as Ellie babbles a baby talk reply.**

**“She was great,” Melissa says, following Isaac into the house and putting the hefty diaper bag she’s carrying on the floor just inside the door.  “Small meltdown when she couldn’t have C-A-N-D-Y she saw at the store, but that’s about par for the course for the next twenty years or so,” she jokes, and Isaac politely returns the smile.**

**“You look tired, sweetie,” she says as her smile fades.  “Everything okay at work today?”  Isaac nods even though it’s a lie.  “You sleeping okay?” He nods again, even though it’s another lie.**

**“I’m okay,” he tells her, because that’s true enough at least.  He’s not** **_good_ ** **but he’s okay; he’s managing.**

**“I picked up a couple things for you boys at the store today.  Nothing big, just some quick stuff.  I know things have gotten a lot busier.  I actually thought I might cook dinner? Nothing fancy, just some chicken alfredo.”**

**“You really don’t need to do that,” Isaac replies, hoping she’ll just head back out the half-open door and leave him to distract himself by entertaining Eloise.**

**“Ever think that maybe I** **_want_ ** **to?” she wonders with a hand on her hip.  “If I didn’t want to cook dinner, I wouldn’t offer.”**

**“I don’t need you to--” Isaac protests.**

**“I never said you** **_needed_ ** **me to,” Melissa interrupts, turning toward the kitchen to start dinner.  “But I’m a Mom and this is the kind of thing moms do.  John’s working tonight; Scott and Allison are over at her parents for dinner; Stiles has a midterm tomorrow.  It’s the perfect night for it.  Maybe you don’t need me, but moms need to feel needed sometimes,” she lectures as she starts investigating the cabinets for supplies.**

**“You’re not my mom,” Isaac blurts angrily, getting a momentary pinched look of hurt from Melissa that causes instant regret.  “Sorry, I--”**

**“I know I’m not your mom,” she replies with a strained smile. She finds a deep pan and it clanks lightly as she sets it on the burner.  “Stiles and I have been trying to find the balance for years, and we still can’t quite figure it out.  I’m not trying to replace your mom, or his.  I just care about you, and I’d like to think if something ever happened to me someone would step in for Scott and try to make up for just a little bit of the void.”**

**“That’s nice and all but I’m really not in the mood for all this, okay?” he persists. Ellie tucks her head under Isaac’s chin and grabs at his uniform collar.**

**“Okay, okay,” she says with a defeated sigh, “That’s fine.”**

**She looks at him for a moment or two more, with something other than pity on her face.  Her mouth is turned down in a slight frown, her eyes seem to be missing a bit of her usual sparkle.  She looks back at the beginnings of dinner and back over to Isaac a couple of times and Isaac thinks she looks--sad? Disappointed maybe? Like maybe what she said about wanting someone to take care of wasn’t just a line for Isaac’s benefit.  He doesn’t know her well enough to read the expression exactly, and before he can make up his mind what the most likely scenario is, she turns, pulling her keys from the side pouch of the diaper bag on the floor.**

**“Wait,” he follows her path to the front door before he can change his mind--because whatever the look on her face was, it was something** **_wrong_ ** **, so he asks, “Are** **_you_ ** **okay?”**

**“What?” she says, eyebrows rising in apparent surprise.**

**“You look--sad,” Isaac realizes.   “Is everything okay? Or is it just me or--”**

**She measures her answer carefully. “I got some sad news today,” Melissa confides.  “I know you’ve only been at your job a few weeks, but I’m sure you already know how easy it is to get invested in everyone, no matter how distant and professional you try to be.” Melissa’s closed the gap between the two of them, and picks up Ellie’s hand to play gently with it.**

**Isaac nods for her to continue, dreading where this confession is headed.**

**“There was a patient I worked on when he first came in--horrible car accident--prospects didn’t look good, but he was young, strong, about the same age as you boys.  He was doing better but I got a text earlier today from one of the other nurses that he--he didn’t--”**

**She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to.  The looks she gives Isaac says,** **_and it could have been Scott or Stiles--or even you.  Only happenstance that it wasn’t._ ** **It stirs a sense of belonging in Isaac he hasn’t felt since before Stiles’ big reveal of his darkest secret.  A reminder that Melissa cared long before she knew what a hell his the last ten years had been, it’s not** **_all_ ** **pity.**

**“Sorry, sweetheart, this isn’t the kind of thing you want to hear after a long day of--”**

**“I get it,” Isaac interrupts, and he finds the courage to meet her eyes.  “The--the second week of work there was a toddler who slipped away from her mom and fell in the pool,” he shares, trying not to remember the moment too vividly, tightening his hold on Ellie just slightly.  “We got her back but--it was close--and it,” words fail him, so he just repeats, “I get it.”**

**She gives him a grim smile of something like comradery.  “I wish I could say it gets easier…”**

**“It’s worth it though, right?” Isaac supposes, “for the ones who do make it.”**

**“Yeah,” she agrees.  “It’s worth it.”**

**“Ya know,” Isaac says, “chicken alfredo sounds really good now that I think about it.  I can help if you want,” he offers, as an apology for being kind of an asshole before.**

**“You could keep me company in the kitchen,” she says with a smile.  “Tell me how work’s been going? I get the feeling you and I are going to have some war stories to swap--crazy ones, not just the sad ones.”**

**“Dude, yeah,” Isaac replies immediately, “Last shift, we had to go out because one of the guys at the fire department got shot by a house! How nuts is that?! There was ammunition inside and it started going off--which apparently isn’t unheard of--but one of the bullets totally hit the guy,” Isaac tells her as they walk back toward the kitchen.**

**He’s kind of being dying to share the story, but he’s also been determined to keep Stiles at arm’s length so he hasn’t gotten to tell it yet.**

**“I can’t believe I haven’t heard about that one!” Melissa says.**

**“Well, they ended up air-lifting him out,” Isaac explains, “Chief didn’t want to take any chances with one of his guys and all.”**

**Isaac continues on, giving a general description of things, and Melissa listens attentively before countering with her own crazy stories.  He’s content to let her dominate the conversation, figuring she can use reminders of the crazy and funny patients right now.  Stiles still isn’t home by the time dinner is ready, and Melissa suggests that Isaac call him.**

**“I’m sure he’s not gonna be home anytime soon,” Isaac tells her.**

**“Well, even if he’s got a midterm, he still needs to eat,” she fusses.  “Humor me?”**

**He sighs but obligingly gets out his phone.  Stiles answers on the second ring with a panicked, “Is Eloise okay?”  It’s not an unreasonable response, given that they haven’t talked on the phone since Stiles blabbed his secret--just texts when needed to coordinate stuff for El. She makes delighted grabbing hands at Isaac when she hears the voice from her high chair by the kitchen table.**

**“She’s fine,” Isaac replies, moving over to lightly stroke her hair.  “Uhm, Melissa just wanted me to call you and tell you she made dinner and also to remind you that you need to eat something.” He wants to grimace in embarrassment, even though Melissa’s back is turned to him and she’s ostensibly busy with the stovetop.**

**“Oh,” Stiles replies in clear relief.  “I--uh--is everything okay? Why is she cooking us dinner?”**

**“Because she wanted to,” Isaac replies tersely. “You want to come back to eat or what?”**

**“I--uh--well--I’m kind of in the middle of stuff here, so I’ll pass.  Gonna be home late probably.  Tell her I packed power bars and stuff.”**

**“Okay,” Isaac says, ending the call.**

**Melissa looks over at him with a frown on her face.  “I take it things haven’t exactly improved.”**

**“We’re fine,” Isaac replies firmly.**

**“Maybe you haven’t broken up yet,” Melissa replies as she leans against the counter, “but you’re not fine.”**

**Isaac doesn’t miss the ‘yet’ in the sentence, and panic  fills the bottom of his stomach at the thought.**

**“I know you didn’t want him to tell us,” Melissa goes on, “but, Isaac, it’s not anything to be ashamed of--or that you should keep bottled up or feel like you have to handle on your own.  Stiles just wanted to help--”**

**“I don’t need anybody’s pity to deal with my own shit,” Isaac interjects, voice trembling just a bit, anger barely contained.  “It’s nobody’s business, and I didn’t--I should’ve--telling Stiles was a mistake,” he concludes finally.  “Lesson learned there.  I don’t need help.  I’m** **_fine_ ** **.”**

**“Stiles doesn’t pity you, sweetie.  He loves you,” Melissa continues, undeterred by his unforgiving tone.**

**“Maybe I’m just new to the whole relationship thing,” Isaac retorts. “But I’m pretty fucking sure you don’t betray the trust of people you love.”**

**“You do when it’s your only option,” she replies.  “We were ready to report you for domestic abuse, Isaac; he panicked!”**

**“I never laid a** **_finger_ ** **on him!” Isaac shouts, words flying unbidden from his mouth now.  “I would** **_never_ ** **do that to him.  You and the sheriff just--”**

**“Exactly,” Melissa interjects, voice rising to match Isaac’s.  “** **_Me and John_ ** **screwed this up.** **_Not_ ** **Stiles.  We jumped to conclusions, and Stiles felt backed into a corner.  He was just trying to protect you!  He doesn’t deserve--”**

**“Don’t talk to me about what people deserve,” Isaac orders.  “Life’s not about what you** **_deserve_ ** **, Melissa.  You get what you get and you deal with it.  Tell me you didn’t hate the way John looked at you when he found out about Rafe,” he demands, and she shrinks just a bit, clearly surprised he’d bring that into the light, but Isaac’s too pissed to be polite or think of boundaries.  He’s venting all the frustration he’s been holding back from Stiles, and he advances halfway toward the oven before he catches himself.  “John’s pity--everybody’s pity.  Bet no one ever looked at you the same way for a long time.  Maybe they** **_still_ ** **don’t look at you the same way.  Everybody’s eyes showing what they were thinking: ‘poor Melissa--we thought she was so strong and such a great mother and all this time she’s been some weak, pathetic woman who let her husband beat on her--maybe her kid too and--”**

**Isaac flinches as she strides across the kitchen to meet him and her hand flies toward his face.  He catches her wrist in mid-swing, palm open and seemingly ready to slap him.  There’s absolute fury in her dark brown eyes as she thunders, “I never let him lay a hand** **on Scott, you hear me?! And it’s none of your business what--”**

**“No, it’s not my business,” Isaac agrees, voice deadly calm, holding back the smile at getting the furious reaction from her that he wanted, however unsettling it may be to see Melissa’s motherly temperament vaporize into rage.  “And my past isn’t any of** **_your_ ** **business,” he tells her firmly, willing himself to be gentle as he releases her wrist.**

**When his grip is gone, her eyes leave his face long enough to stare at her hand with eyes wide.  The fire leeches from her eyes as tears well up instead, and her voice has lost all venom when she says, “Isaac, I didn’t mean to--”**

**“It’s fine,” he says shortly.  “I don’t care,” he lies.  “And I don’t need you to coddle me,” he adds as he turns his back on her and, even though it feels like admitting defeat in his own house, he retreats from the kitchen.**

**His hands shake at his sides, and he clenches them into fists to try and calm them, but he’s more than a little concerned with how badly he’d like to use his fists to punch a hole through the drywall to vent this residual anger.  A year ago he’d be headed for his bike and finding someplace to pick a fight--maybe calling Derek to let off some steam, but he doesn’t have the luxury of those options anymore.  Instead, he all but flees to the downstairs guest bathroom, slamming the door behind him and splashing his face in cold water. He breathes deeply, trying dispel the fury, but he’s spiraling, he can feel it.**

**“Iyacc!” comes a demand at the door, and the sound of pudgy palms pounding on the wood confirm that Eloise is right outside.  “Iyaac!”**

**Melissa probably walked her down the hall after him when he stormed through the living room.  Her presence dampens his rage like nothing else, and he breathes deep once more before opening the door and plastering a smile on his face.**

**“What’re you doing, silly?” he says as she reaches to him, requesting to be picked up and he reaches down to oblige her.  “You’re supposed to be watching your Mickey Mouse show.”**

**Melissa’s watching from the end of the hall, her eyes tired and mouth tight with a mix of emotions Isaac can’t read even if he cared to.  He walks past her without a word and back out into the living room, placing Eloise back on her playmate and taking a seat on the couch.**

**“I chose to tell John what was happening,” Melissa says, even as Isaac glares at her, “because I knew that I couldn’t deal with it on my own, and I finally realized that what Rafe was doing to me wasn’t something I had to be ashamed of.  I got the help I needed because it was the right thing to do for me, but, more importantly, it was the right thing to do** **_as a parent_ ** **.  He didn’t hurt Scott the same way he hurt me, but it was affecting Scott all the same.  Your pride should** **_never_ ** **come before your child,” she says.**

**“Don’t tell me how to take care of my kid.  I--”**

**“Stiles loves you.  You love him.  You both love Eloise.  Don’t let your wounded pride cost you your family, Isaac,” she adds, unwavering.   “Because maybe you don’t physically hurt Stiles or Eloise, but what happened to you is affecting them.  You need help--whether it comes from the people who care about you or therapy or whatever other** **_healthy_ ** **way you can find to handle everything you’ve been through.”**

**“You don’t know anything about me,” Isaac replies, knowing the retort isn’t enough but unable to come up with a better one and unwilling to remain silent.**

**“I should never have hit you,” she tells him, voice genuine and eyes pained. “That was inexcusable.”**

**“You didn’t hit me,” he says with a shrug; he’s had a lot worse--and it wasn’t exactly unprovoked. He fixes his gaze somewhere beyond Melissa’s left shoulder, and takes a second to pity himself for having to comfort someone else about this bullshit.**

**“Only because you stopped me.  No matter what we were fighting about, or what you said, it still wasn’t okay,” Melissa says.  “I’m sorry, Isaac.”**

**“I’m not that fragile; it’s no big deal.”**

**“No, you’re not fragile,” she agrees to his surprise.  “You’re strong--or you wouldn’t have made it as far as you have.  But it** **_is_ ** **a big deal that I almost slapped you, no matter what you were saying.”**

**“You** **_didn’t_ ** **slap me; I don’t care if you tried.  It just helped me prove my point,” Isaac says.  “You** **_do_ ** **know** **_exactly_ ** **how it feels to have everyone you know looking at you with nothing but pity, judging every move you make based on your past.  It’s unbearable, and that’s the position Stiles put me it.”**

**“Maybe he was wrong to tell,” Melissa concedes, “but you two have got to find a way to get past it, or you’re going to lose him,” she warns, and the words alone make it suddenly more difficult to breathe.  “You need to let the people who love you help you. That’s how we all get through this life, sweetie.  Leaning on the people we love, and letting them lean on us.  Like you said, I know what it’s like to have people around you look at you with pity, but I also know what it’s like to move past all that onto something better.”**

**“You might know what it’s like, but you don’t know me,” Isaac persists.**

**“I know you love Stiles,” she replies, “even though you feel betrayed.  That’s all I need to know.”**

**“I don’t--”**

**“Just talk** **to him, sweetie.  Please? That’s all I’m going to say about any of this.  You can forget about everything else from this conversation.  Just** ** _talk_** **to him.”**

**Tears are welling up in her eyes again.  Isaac is more than a little annoyed at the effect that has on him.  Maybe she’s not his mother.  Maybe he can yell at her and call her on her bullshit.  It doesn’t change the fact that she** **_is_ ** **the closest thing he’s had to a mom in a long time--the closest thing Eloise has to a grandmother.**

**“I’ll think about it,” he says by way of compromise.  “No promises.”**

 

**************************************************

 

Isaac’s gone to bed already when Stiles gets home well after midnight.  There’s a plate of food in the fridge bearing a post-it note that reads: “You need to eat, Stiles” in Melissa’s handwriting.  He takes the plate out and pops it into the microwave despite the late hour; he hardly ever sleeps before tests anyway, and he’s feeling pretty confident about this one.  It’s on the rules of evidence, and he’s been more or less preparing for it his whole fucking life at this point.  He zones out while the food heats, missing the moment to pull the microwave door open before it beeps and cursing under his breath.  Luckily, there’s no sound of fussing from the nursery though, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he takes the plate with him to the sofa to eat while watching late night infomercials because he’s too tired to scroll through netflix and invest himself in something worth watching.  

Just as Stiles settles in, he hears footsteps on the stairs.  He sighs to himself in frustration; he really doesn’t need Isaac’s broody ass to deal with right now.  He knows Isaac still isn’t sleeping from the number of times Stiles still has to wake him from night terrors, but his patience is wearing thin. Isaac can’t control the nightmares, but he sure as fuck could unstick his mouth, or pull the cactus out of his ass.   

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Stiles says when Isaac enters.  “My bad.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Isaac replies as he stands to the side couch, joining Stiles in staring at the screen.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that,” he affirms with a shrug.  “Melissa thinks I need to talk to you.”

_ Of course you do, you asshole,  _ Stiles thinks, annoyed.

Out loud he just says, “What do  _ you  _ think?” The tone is perhaps more honest than Stiles had planned for.

“I think I don’t have anything to say to you that you actually want to hear.”

“You’re still pissed,” Stiles says.  “I know.  Talk to me anyway.”

“You have a test tomorrow,” Isaac reminds him.  “We’ll talk after that.”

“The suspense’ll drive me nuts, dude.  Just talk,” he insists.  “Hell, yell at me if you think it’ll help.”

“I  _ don’t  _ think it’ll help,” Isaac replies.  “That’s why I haven't been talking.  I think it’s gonna make it worse.  But Melissa--you-- _ everybody _ else in the whole goddamned world seems to think this is something we can just  _ talk _ through, so--”

“Well, it’s not like avoiding the topic has been doing us any good,” Stiles points out.  “Let’s hear it,” he tells Isaac, setting his plate aside and rising to his feet so he and Isaac are on the same level.  “What do you want to say?”

Isaac regards him for a moment with a cautious expression, like he’s trying to spot the trap in Stiles words. The silence is filled with an aggressive salesperson peddling magic diet powder, and the whole conversation is surreal, even for Stiles. Eventually Isaac’s eyes darken with the anger that’s been so present lately, and he looks away from Stiles.  A few more moments pass before Isaac finally speaks.  

“You know what I thought about when I found out you’d told them?” 

“No,” Stiles replies, though the question’s rhetorical.

“I thought about the day Cam told me he was enlisting,” Isaac tells him.

“What?” Stiles says, reaction out before he can guard it.  

_ What does that have to do with you and me? _

“He told me,” Isaac goes on, “that it was the best thing for  _ both  _ of us.  That it was what he needed to do so that we could get away from Dad.  He said it was what was best for both of us, but I knew the truth.  It wasn’t about getting me away from Dad; Cam joining the army instead of trying to find some job around town was about getting  _ himself _ as far away from Dad as he could.  I was the one who had to deal with the aftermath; I was the one who had to live with the choice he made.  We’d been a team my whole life, but as soon as he said I was leaving, I was alone.  It was the loneliest I’d ever felt in my life.”  Isaac’s eyes finally find their way to Stiles’ as he continues, “Until you.”

“Isaac--”

“I  _ trusted _ you, Stiles!” he all but roars. The infomercial competes with Isaac, and Stiles desperately wishes he could turn around and shut the damned thing off. He continues “I trusted you to have my back; I thought we were a team; I thought I could count on you.  And you did the exact same thing Cam did--the same thing  _ everybody  _ does.  You made the choice that made  _ your  _ life easier.”

“I meant to make  _ both _ our lives easier.” Stiles insists, but instead the whole conversation takes a left turn into vindictive faster than he can stop himself.

“Yeah, but  _ I’m  _ the one who has to live with the choice  _ you  _ made!” Isaac accuses, “I’m the pathetic guy with the tragic past--even more than I already was.  And you’re the big, brave hero.  They were the closest thing I’ve had to parents in a  _ long  _ fucking time, and I was  _ finally  _ starting to feel like I belonged individually, not just as part of you.  And then you fucking destroyed anything I’d built with them.  How long before you feel like you don’t have  _ ‘any choice’  _ but to tell other people? How long before the whole goddamned town knows what a pathetic little punching bag Isaac Lahey is.  I will  _ never  _ stop being a victim if people find out about this shit!”

“Dad and Melissa still think of you as family.  If anything, it made things closer!”

“It made things  _ different _ !”

“What else was I supposed to do, Isaac? You couldn’t sleep! You still don’t really sleep!  What if they’d reported you? What if family services took Eloise away? What if you fall asleep driving home and kill yourself? I couldn’t risk that-- I couldn’t live with the terror--for me or for you!  I didn’t. know. what else. to do.”

“You could’ve at least talked to me,” Isaac snaps back. “You’re the big talker, right? You love to talk shit out.  You couldn’t wait ten fucking minutes for me to wake up and us talk about it before--”

“Would you  _ really  _ have let me tell them.  I didn’t talk to you because I knew what the answer would be!”

“There were other options.  You could have told them about the dreams without--”

“Oh my God, Isaac, it’s done! Hindsight might be fucking 20/20, but, in the moment, I was losing my mind with worry on about a hundred fucking levels!  I can’t take it back! What do you want from me?” 

The last sentence comes out more raw and desperate than Stiles would like, but it’s the question that’s been screaming in his mind for weeks.  At least it’s out in the open now. 

“I don’t know,” Isaac says with a tired sigh.

“Time?” Stiles suggests.  “If you just need time, I get it.  Or--you want an apology because I think I did about a million that day, but I can work up a couple more if that’s what you need to--”

“I said I don’t know!” Isaac repeats. “There’s not a magic way to make it all better, Stiles!”

“I know that, but what do you need to move the hell on? Or are we just stuck in this cesspool of toxicity for good?” 

“I don’t know,” Isaac repeats again. Stiles isn’t sure if he’d rather punch him or hold him, but before he comes up with a reply, Isaac turns away, heading out of the room.  He turns in the doorway to meet Stiles eyes with a tired but earnest gaze, and adds, “But I hope we’re not stuck.”

And at that, the first flutter of hope hits Stiles, that maybe  _ maybe  _ there’s a chance for their family to weather this after all.  

“Me too,” Stiles agrees.  

Isaac purses his lips, almost like he’s trying to smile but can’t manage it, and then turns to retreat back up the stairs.  Stiles plops back down on the sofa for a while, watching TV without absorbing anything, no longer interested in the plate of food he’d started.  

Eventually he makes his way upstairs to bed, passing Isaac’s room to hear the all too familiar mutterings of a bad dream.  At least it’s not a full-blown night terror, and at least it’s less and less common that Isaac wakes up ready to fight, but it still only solidifies Stiles’ assurance that he’s right to believe Isaac needs help to get past all he’s been through. The door creaks as he pushes through, but it doesn’t have the desired effect on Isaac’s nightmare.

“Hey, it’s a dream Isaac.  Wake up.  It’s just a dream,” he says as he bends to put hands on Isaac’s shoulders.  

Isaac jerks away from the touch, and Stiles lets go.  There are tears on Isaac’s cheeks, and he wipes at them hurriedly.  Stiles pretends not to notice.  

“You okay?” Stiles wonders.  “Need some water or something?”

“No, that’s okay,” Isaac replies, “But,” he adds, catching Stiles’ hand as he turns to leave, “you could stay--if you want.”    

Stiles pauses, considering, and accepts the invitation.  He strips out of his shirt and pants to sleep in his boxers, sliding into bed next to Isaac.  He can feel Isaac still shaking next to him. It makes him upset in a way he can’t describe that he’s abandoning his earlier anger and frustration with Isaac for the moment but Stiles slides over closer, taking the unfamiliar place as big spoon, wrapping one arm tightly around Isaac. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Stiles asks.  

“No,” Isaac murmurs.  “I don’t really remember specifics just--that it was Dad.  It’s always my dad.”  Stiles starts to say he’s sorry Isaac has to deal with it, but Isaac’s been on such a crusade against being pitied that he’s not sure the comment would be wise.  Instead he opts for silence, surprised when Isaac breaks it to murmur, “I never get the good dreams of him anymore; they’re always just the nightmares. But they weren’t always nightmares, ya know?”

Stiles didn’t know that. Maybe he would have if Isaac ever said anything to him. “Maybe you’ll get the good dreams back one day,” Stiles says instead.  “You wanna tell me about them?”

Isaac remains silent for so long that Stiles assumes he’s drifted back to sleep until he says, “He coached my t-ball team, even though he didn’t like baseball, even though he’d rather I was swimming, he helped coach and never missed a practice or a game.  He’d take me out for ice cream, even when we lost games.”

“That sounds really awesome,” Stiles says.

“Yeah,” Isaac replies, melancholy tone marring the response to what should be a good memory.  

Stiles wonders if the fact that Mr. Lahey was a good father for the first part of Isaac’s life makes it easier or worse for Isaac.  To know that kind of love and affection, but then have that same person put you through years of abuse and torture and manipulation--it makes Stiles’ ache to ease that pain, but Isaac’s the one who has to decide he’s ready to accept some help with it.  And he’s not there yet. It’s the whole fucking point of the argument.

_ How do you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?  _ Stiles thinks for what seems the millionth time.  

 

*********************************

 

**Isaac wakes more rested than he’s felt in weeks, with Stiles’ arm slung over his waist and the sound of Stiles’ soft snores joining the birds outside in a familiar morning soundtrack Isaac missed more than he’d realized.  He manages to slip out of bed without waking Stiles, and he checks on Ellie before going down to the kitchen to make some coffee.   He replays last night’s argument in his head, right down to his admission that he hopes they find a way out of this horrible place their relationship has fallen into.**

**He just doesn’t see how he and Stiles are going to talk their way out.  He can’t think what could be said that could possibly make anything better.  He’s never been good at talking--much less about shit like this.  More than anything he’s worried he’s going to** **_really_ ** **lose his temper with Stiles--do something that scares him away.  He pushes away memories of punching holes in Derek’s walls and the countless items thrown or shattered in the course of fights with other people.  He doesn’t want to fight like that with Stiles.  He doesn’t want to hurt Stiles, doesn’t want Stiles scared of him.  But there’s just so much frustration and pain and things Isaac can’t even put a name to, and he’s got no clue how to wrangle them all in.  He just knows that talking isn’t going to be the way.**

**_Of course, sex is easier than talking,_ ** **his brain supplies, but Isaac pushes the thought to the back of his mind, unsure that this time around sex would end any better than trying to talk things out.**

 

***********************************

 

Stiles tries to go about his day as usual, but it’s a struggle.  He tries to focus on classes and tries to stay on task as he finishes his project for his class on Research Methods in Criminal Justice, which he pushed ‘til the last minute so he could study for his midterm. As much as he tries to keep home out of his head for now, he keeps dwelling on the morning.  It wasn’t radical, there was barely any conversation, but there was something  _ easier _ about the relative silence between them over breakfast.  Stiles had offered to make extra pancakes if Isaac wanted, and Isaac accepted as he fed Eloise her mashed banana and sweet potato.  Isaac had refilled Stiles’ cup of coffee when he refilled his own.  They were little things, but they were noticeably amiable things that had been missing in the past weeks of terse, frustrated interaction between them.  It’s not groundbreaking, but Stiles will take it.  In fact, he kind of wants to run with it, terrified of letting any momentum go by without encouragement.  By the time he manages to get enough work done to call it a night, he’s amped up in anticipation, sure that tonight there will be  _ something  _ they can do to make progress.  Maybe yesterday’s argument was the first little shove they needed toward moving past this thing.   Maybe there’s something he can do tonight to keep the momentum going.  

When Stiles finally gets in, Isaac is in the living room, sitting in the chair by the couch.  At first glance, Stiles thinks he might have fallen asleep in front of the TV again, still reluctant to go up to bed and face the ever-present nightmares. The television is on the cute channel that Ellie loves, singing a goodnight song to the dark room. Stiles steals away to the kitchen, but there’s nothing in the refrigerator that can hold his attention as much as the thought of improving things with Isaac can.

He leaves to go wake Isaac up and force him up the stairs to a horizontal position. If he’s already asleep, then the likelihood of a conversation happening tonight is all but gone, but it’ll be even harder to talk to him if he’s in a bad mood from sleeping all night upright in a chair. Stiles stands between the television and Isaac, just to check and see if Isaac really is asleep, but as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees that Ellie is curled up with him. The scene is so relaxed, so private, that he can feel his heart twist with it. It probably means that Isaac hasn’t been asleep too long though, which is good.  Maybe the conversation can happen after all, if not, at least Isaac won’t be grumpy from a crick in his neck or anything.  Stiles will take what he can get. 

Ellie’s just a little bit too warm from being wrapped up with Isaac, but she easily attaches herself to Stiles, giving a little sound of contentment before snuggling up to him as he pulls her away. Isaac wakes up almost immediately, and it’s thankfully not the totally panicked jolt that they’ve been trying to deal with lately.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Isaac mumbles as he pushes out of the chair and stands too fast.  

“I didn’t think that,” Stiles rushes out automatically.  “I know you wouldn’t.”

He hadn’t even thought about that.  _ Fuck.   _ The most frightening thing is the thought that Isaac  _ might  _ have hurt her if he’d had a nightmare.  It’s another in a long list of reasons Stiles has for why Isaac has to deal with his demons and not just try to shove them away.  But now’s not the time to be pulling that list out, so he just files the thought away for tonight at least.  

“I just thought we’d get her to bed and get you into an actual bed, yeah?” Stiles says, and Isaac looks back to his general area in front of the TV before vaguely nodding, still shaking off sleep.

“Here, I got her,” Isaac says, holding out his hands to take Eloise, and Stiles acquiesces, especially after Isaac’s comment about not hurting her.   

Isaac is almost literally retreating it seems to Stiles, and he’s halfway up the stairs before Stiles processes and moves to follow him.  Isaac takes Ellie to the top of the stairs and walks down the hall as Stiles follows. Isaac sticks his elbow out at the last second as if he was going to close the nursery door before realizing Stiles’ continuing presence. He doesn’t roll his eyes or make it clear that Stiles shouldn’t step through the doorframe though, so Stiles sneaks in feeling somewhat uninvited, but still more welcome than he’s been lately.  He takes it as a good sign.

He watches as Isaac lays Ellie down in the crib. She fusses a bit, so Isaac lingers with one hand gripped on the rail, the other one soothing over Ellie’s back. Stiles sits down in the rocking chair that they’d pulled from the basement of repressed memories and watches Isaac a little bit longer before speaking up.

“You know, she loves it when you sing.”

“You mean she loves it when  _ you  _ sing,” Isaac counters softly. 

Stiles doesn’t really know how to respond to that. It doesn’t sound mean, or self-defeating coming from Isaac. He gets up quietly to go and join Isaac, letting their shoulders touch. It feels fragile to do so, but Isaac doesn’t flinch away, and that’s what matters.  Stiles is still trying to keep his hope in check, in case Isaac ends up pulling away.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing for her,” Stiles supposes.  “Not really,  you always quit when I walk in the room.”

“Some things aren’t for public consumption,” Isaac answers pointedly.   

The tension in Isaac’s face is evident as he grits his teeth, maybe biting back further comment, and Stiles’ gut clenches in disappointment. He can pretty much give up on a fruitful conversation tonight. It was such a sure feeling this evening, before he got home, that he would be able to fix everything.  But now just one offhanded comment and the strain is already edging back into the careful progress of the last twenty-four hours.  Talking doesn’t seem like such a good plan anymore.

_ But sex is easier than talking,  _ Stiles thinks, Isaac’s words humming in his mind.  Stiles has never stood by the mantra before. But now he can see why Isaac believes it.  As Isaac starts to leave, somehow the act of reaching out for a tender touch to Isaac’s shoulder seems so much more effortless than saying “don’t go” or “can I come with you.”  Isaac stills at Stiles’ touch, so Stiles takes a step closer, encouraged when Isaac doesn’t move away.  

Stiles comes up behind Isaac. It reminds him of that first night they had kissed on the couch after Ellie’s birthday. Things had seemed so precariously relaxed back then too. Stiles wraps his hands around Isaac’s waist, letting his palms rest flat on Isaac’s stomach. It’s good to hold Isaac like this, without any of the terror present from the last few times they’ve been this close together.

“I miss you,” Stiles speaks lowly into Isaac’s neck, and Isaac shudders in what Stiles hopes is a positive reaction to the intimacy after weeks of its absence.  He holds his breath, waiting to see if Isaac pulls away or follows Stiles’ lead.  

_ Come on, Isaac; it’s your motto after all, right? Sex is easier than talking. _

Isaac shifts away, and Stiles’ sense of hope plunges for a moment until he realizes that Isaac’s just turning, turning and then invading Stiles’ space to bring their lips together in a tentative kiss.  The kiss is chaste at first, like they’re both afraid of pushing too far too fast.  But his whole body revels in the familiar loving ache that has him craving more before very long. They break away for only a moment before Stiles moves in again for a deeper kiss, opening his mouth when he feels the pressure of Isaac’s tongue against his lips, shuddering at the wonderful sensation, realizing how badly he’s missed this.  They make their way down the hall to the master bedroom without ever losing contact, like both are afraid the moment might shatter if they stop for anything.     

“Tell me what you want,” Stiles says, gasping for breath and pulling at the hem of Isaac’s shirt to get it up and over his head.  “Anything,” he adds, meaning it.  Whatever Isaac wants so that this moves forward and not back.  

******************************************************************

**Isaac feels his heart jump to his throat.**

**_Why should I be nervous? We’ve had sex plenty of times._ **

**“I…” Isaac knows exactly what he wants to ask for, but it’s strangely embarrassing to admit it out loud. He and Derek had never asked each other about it. The countless one-night stands would have never agreed to it. It’s something that he doubts Stiles even remembers him mentioning. Isaac lays his hands over Stiles’ and smiles. There are plenty of other things for Isaac to want besides…**

**He doesn’t get to finish the thought before Stiles beats him to it.**

**“You know, we never did get around to trying out rimming,” Stiles says.  “I could maybe…”**

**“You remember that?” Isaac blurts before he can stop himself.**

**“Dude, how could I possibly** **_forget_ ** **that conversation,” Stiles replies.  “You know sex is one of my favorite topics of discussion.  Much to your dismay,” he adds with a grin into Isaac’s shoulder.**

**_Yeah, except we haven’t done or talked about any of this in weeks,_ ** **Isaac thinks a bit bitterly, but good God the thought of Stiles’ mouth on him, anywhere really but especially...** **_there_ ** **. He pulls Stiles tighter against him.** **_God_ ** **how he’s missed Stiles, but the words get stuck in his throat.**

**“You better not be kidding,” Isaac replies instead as he lifts a hand away to sweep his fingers through Stiles’ hair. He’s let it get longer, and Isaac knows he probably won’t ever know how to tell Stiles that he loves having something to grab onto, that he loves how hot it makes him look.**

**“Scout’s honor,” Stiles replies, and Isaac can feel when Stiles’ lips against his shoulder twist up into a smirk.**

**Isaac pulls back to face Stiles then, and even though he’s made the move countless times before, something feels uncertain and new as he reaches to wrap his fingers around the back of Stiles’ neck, running his fingers through the hair at the base of his skull as he gently pulls Stiles’ lips to his own again.  They fall into their old rhythm, seeking contact however they can get it.  Stiles’ hands wander over every inch of Isaac’s skin he can reach, and Isaac shivers at the goosebumps that follow in the wake of Stiles’ nimble fingers.**

**“I missed you,” Stiles murmurs when their lips next part.**

**“Mmmm,” Isaac agrees, not eager to start any conversations right now.**

**_Come on, Stiles; just go with it.  Sex is easy. We can manage this.  Don’t ruin it with conversation._ **

**“Bed?” Stiles gasps as Isaac starts to suck at Stiles’ neck.**

**“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, heart already pounding in anticipation as he and Stiles help each other strip off what remains of their clothes.**

**They fall onto the bed, and Stiles almost immediately kisses his way down Isaac’s chest until his tongue circles Isaac’s nipple, and Isaac throws his head back for a moment at the fantastic feel of it before reaching to pet at Stiles’ chest in the dim light the moon brings in through the window, fingers finally finding and running over Stiles’ nipples to mimic the stimulation Isaac’s so in love with.  Isaac loses himself in the moment, letting his mind relax as he focusing only on reaching as much of Stiles as he can, drinking in the sensation of Stiles’ mouth trailing kissing down his neck, and then Stiles bites just a little at Isaac’s collarbone. It sends fine shivers down his arms, and Isaac feels such an intense ache that he moans with it, his hips bucking up to grind his almost painfully hard erection against Stiles’. Stiles has a smile in his voice when he says,  “You know, I can do what you like a lot faster if you tell me instead of letting me guess.”**

**“That,” Isaac gasps, “I like that.  Harder,” he adds, and he feels the huff of Stiles’ laughter against his skin for a moment before Stiles obliges, biting Isaac again, this time considerably harder and Isaac lets out a wanton moan of encouragement so Stiles doesn’t stop.**

**Isaac loses himself in the moment, occasionally gasping encouragements and directions and desperate demands. They both realize quickly that they don’t have the self-control or stamina to try out anything as new and logistical as rimming--instead desperately seeking friction against each other, Stiles’ grinding down against Isaac.**

**“Not that I don’t appreciate the first offer, but just fuck me,” Isaac demands breathlessly.**

**“You sure?” Stiles asks, sounding just as eager as Isaac feels.**

**“Yes, get the fucking lube,” Isaac orders, and Stiles is quick to obey.**

**Stiles is taking his sweet time, but Isaac quickens the pace as much as he can, more bossy than usual in his borderline desperate, voracious pursuit of relieving the tension pent up inside him.  “More,” Isaac urges, along with “faster” and “harder” and at least one “God, Stiles please just** **_fuck_ ** **me,” as he covers where Stiles’ hands are gripping his shoulders, pressing Stiles’ hands into his skin and practically begging, “tighter.” He feels Stiles’ nails digging in, but he doesn’t tell him to stop, too focused on the exquisite feeling and a blissfully quiet mind as Stiles finally finds the perfect angle to have Isaac seeing stars as he reaches to pump at his aching cock.  He loses himself in the heat and sweat and friction of all of it, building toward release, and Stiles’ kisses him hard, swallowing Isaac’s moans as he comes.  Stiles doesn’t last much longer than Isaac, holding on even tighter, his palms tight and demanding as he grabs Isaac’s sides and pulls him forward as he thrusts in a final few times and throws his head back, with Isaac’s name on his lips.**

**It’s certainly one of their quickest rounds, and maybe they didn’t get to do what Isaac was hoping, but nevertheless Isaac feels sated, like some of this god awful, pent up frustration that’s been driving him nuts for weeks is finally ebbed away.  Isaac grunts in slight protest as Stiles pulls out of him, feeling boneless and exhausted.  Stiles falls onto the mattress beside him, reaching to lace his fingers through Isaac’s.**

**“I love you, you know,” Stiles says quietly.**

**“Love you, too,” Isaac answers automatically, though his post-coital bliss is quickly fading, and his brain is coming fully back online, along with all the reasons his frustration had built up in the first place; regardless of how automatic the response may be, he doesn’t** **_not_ ** **love Stiles though, even if he’s still angry.**

 

**************************************

 

Stiles is still coming down from the endorphin high of it all when Isaac rolls away from him with a groan.  Isaac sits up slowly, his silhouette dark against the dim light coming in through the window blinds, and Stiles reaches toward him with a whine.  

“Where’re you going?” 

_ That was good right?  _ Stiles wonders, suddenly nervous. _  I wanted it to be a step in the right direction.  Why do you want to leave? _

“Shower,” Isaac replies.

“Oh, okay,” Stiles says, “You--uh--mind some company?”

“If you want,” Isaac answers with a shrug before he rises to his feet and heads for the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” Stiles wonders, noticing Isaac’s unusually ginger gait even from just his shadowy outline.  

“Mmhmm,” Isaac replies.  “Little sore; it’s fine.”

Isaac doesn’t seem enthused about company, and Stiles realizes they just took a pretty big step toward back to normal, hopefully anyway. Maybe Isaac needed a second or two to process? He waits until he hears to sound of Isaac stepping in under the spray of the shower to get up and go to the bathroom, cleaning himself up with a wet washcloth. He holds his breath for a “you coming in here or not” kind of invitation that doesn’t come.  Isaac doesn’t say anything, and Stiles fills the silence with humming for a minute or two.  

“Sure you’re okay?” Stiles says.

“Fine,” Isaac replies, sounding annoyed this time.  “Quit asking.”

 

****************************************

 

**Isaac stands under the lukewarm spray, avoiding any scalding hot water on the fresh nail tracks down the front and back of him.  He’s trying his best not to think about anything at all.  It isn’t working of course, and he keeps remembering the first, and only other, time Stiles left marks on him like this.  It ruined the moment for Stiles, in a way Isaac couldn’t read then but understands better now.  For whatever reason, Stiles can’t bear the idea of Isaac being hurt.**

**_But he told everyone the truth anyway._ **

**Sure, Stiles pointed out plenty of times that he only told John and Melissa.  But they’re enough. They’re the** **_worst_ ** **.  He thought he was going to finally have a shot at a normal family, and instead he’s more of a charity case in their eyes than he’s ever been-- the sad, kicked puppy Stiles brought home to nurture back to health.  And Stiles doesn’t understand what he did to Isaac when he betrayed the trust-- how deep it cut, the** **_constant_ ** **ache it put in Isaac’s chest.  Isaac hasn’t been able to find the words to make Stiles understand how much the betrayal hurt.  Stiles doesn’t see what he did that was so wrong.**

**_But he’ll see this,_ ** **Isaac broods, running fingers lightly over his swollen split lip to wash a bit of the blood away and trailing a finger over the bruises starting to show along his collarbone.** **_Maybe words aren’t what I needed to make my point anyway._ **

 

***********************************

From the length of the shower, it’s not hard to tell something’s on Isaac’s mind.  Stiles doubts he’ll get much in the way of conversation, but maybe he can read Isaac’s expression enough to piece it together.  It’s a good an excuse as any to find a reason to have the lights on when Isaac’s done.   So Stiles strips the dirty sheets from the bed, taking way too much time putting on new ones, stalling so he’s not done when Isaac finally walks back out of the bathroom slowly, wearing a towel around his waist.  At first Stiles just catches a glimpse of Isaac out of the corner of his eye, but then he looks at him in full, taking in the swell of Isaac’s lip, the little bit of blood still at the corner of his mouth; then the angry pink bite marks along his collarbone, some of which seem to be darkening into bruises; but worst by far are the crimson lines down Isaac’s torso Stiles left from raking his nails down and shoving him around, hard and deep enough to draw blood in more than one tract. Stiles knows without having to see that there’s a matching set on Isaac’s back.  The pillow in his hand falls back down to the bed as his mouth falls open.  Isaac seems mildly surprised by the reaction but he doesn’t speak as Stiles struggles to form some kind of coherent sentence.

“You--I--you--”

_ You didn’t say anything. Why did you say anything? You said--said harder, but I wasn’t--I wasn’t paying enough attention.  How did I not know it was too much? Why couldn’t I tell? Why didn’t you stop me?  _

“Yeah,” Isaac says with a shrug, looking down briefly at his chest before going to pick a pair of boxers up off the top of the basket of newly folded laundry.  “It’s fine,” he adds as he pulls them on, moving gingerly like Stiles hasn’t seen before, like he’s  _ hurting _ . 

Stiles still can’t manage to say anything; he’s just staring in abject horror.

_ I did that. I hurt you,  _ he wants to say, but something seems to have short circuited between his mind and his mouth. _  I went too far.  I didn’t mean it.  I’d never hurt you like that on purpose.  That’s what you did for Derek because you wanted to be with him.  That’s--that’s not what you want anymore, you told me so.  You like that--that we’re in tune. That it’s not just physical craziness. You told me you like that I’m different--that it’s different when we’re together than anything else you’ve had before.   _

“I--I hurt you,” Stiles finally manages.  “I didn’t mean to, Isaac, I fucking swear.  I--”

“It’s fine,” Isaac repeats, even though it’s not; it can’t be.

“I’m so sorry! I won’t--”

“Don’t be sorry,” Isaac interrupts as he sits gingerly on the bed; he smiles at Stiles, and Stiles tries desperately to read the expression in Isaac’s eyes, but he can’t.  It’s too blank; careful and closed off.  “I’m not a delicate little rose petal you have to protect,” Isaac goes on, turning on his side with his back to Stiles as he adds,  “I can take it.”

The words shock Stiles like a bucket of ice water dumped over him, and he takes a step back.  Shutting his eyes against the tears that threaten to spill over every second, but he has to open them again to try and get words out.  An explanation, an apology.   _ Something _ .  Because he can’t bear to hear Isaac say those four words, much less in this context.

“Isaac,” he manages, but it comes out more a sob than a word.

“Don’t,” Isaac replies tersely to the far wall, “let’s just go to sleep.”

As much as Stiles wants to argue, he still can’t even begin to know what to say, and Isaac apparently doesn’t want to hear it even if he could string together a sentence.  Instead he gets carefully into bed, giving Isaac as much space as possible, staring at the damage on Isaac’s back and noticing with a twist of his gut that some of the new marks run parallel to old scars. He doesn’t realize until too late that he’s reaching to touch the damage, as if maybe it’s just a horrible mirage. And Isaac flinches away the moment he senses the touch, before Stiles’ fingers even make contact

_ Are you scared of me? No! Don’t be, Isaac, please. I didn’t mean it.  I swear I didn’t mean it.  _

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Stiles apologizes.  

“I think I’m gonna sleep in my old room,” Isaac says, rising slowly to get up out of the bed.

“I can go,” Stiles offers.  “It’s fine.  I don’t mind.  If you want some space that’s--”

Isaac doesn’t reply just shakes his head at the offer as he grabs his pillow off the bed and disappears out the door and down the hall.  

 

**************************************

 

**The problem with the walk to his old room is that Isaac has to walk past the nursery, wondering for just a minute if he’s risking too much in his determination to make Stiles feel just as betrayed as Isaac does.  Maybe he shouldn’t have dropped the “I can take it” line.  Maybe he should’ve let Stiles talk.  Maybe he should’ve stayed to sleep in their room.**

**But it’s too late to think about it now; what’s done is done.  He might as well try to get some sleep.**

**Only it takes entirely too long for Isaac to drift asleep, and he wakes what feels like only a moment or two later, screaming from a night terror he can’t recall. Stiles’ voice comes from the other side of the bedroom door, and Isaac can’t remember if he locked it to keep Stiles out or if Stiles just didn’t want to come in.**

**“Isaac, are you okay?” he asks, “I mean I know you’re not** **_okay_ ** **but--”**

**“I’m fine,” Isaac answers automatically.**

**“Okay, well if--if you need anything, just--just let me know, okay? Anything at all, I’m right--right down the hall.”**

**“I’m fine,” he repeats, ignoring the way his hands shake as he tries to rearrange his pillows and blankets to get comfortable again.**

**_I’m fine._ ** **he repeats to himself silently as Stiles’ footsteps retreat down the hall.** **_I’m fine._ **

 

**********************************

 

Stiles doesn’t sleep, how can he when he’s drowning in guilt, unable to close his eyes without seeing Isaac’s too carefully calm and collected face and bruised, sore body that Stiles just let himself  _ use  _ instead of the attentive, tender kind of sex Isaac deserves, the kind that makes him feel  _ better _ not  _ worse _ .  

_ I can take it _ , Isaac said, and the hollow tone behind the words plays in Stiles’ mind on a loop.   _ I can take it; I can take it.   _ Bleeding into the too-fresh memory of Isaac’s defeated voice when he spoke the same words to John.  Words Stiles can only guess Isaac used to use to rationalize what his own father put him through.

Stiles can’t believe he let himself lose control like that.  How could he? All the horrible things he’s thought about Derek, and now he’s hurting Isaac all the same.  

Except….

Except…

Except that Isaac said “harder” and “faster” and “more.”  He never once hinted that he wasn’t enjoying what was happening.  

Or maybe Stiles just wasn’t paying attention.  Or maybe Isaac was trying to keep Stiles happy? Like things with Derek?

But no, Isaac knows that it doesn’t work that way with him.  He knows how Stiles reacted the only other time he’s ever hurt Isaac, even when Isaac said he didn’t mind.  Isaac knows that Stiles doesn’t expect to use Isaac as a way to take out his frustrations.

Isaac  _ knows _ that.  He has to.

So if Isaac knows it, then he was asking because that’s what he wanted, right? Stiles won’t judge him for that.   They can work on it; Stiles has offered to work on it, if it’s something Isaac wants to do.  Just because it’s not Stiles’ thing doesn’t mean it can’t be Isaac’s. 

Unless….

Unless….

Unless Isaac wanted it  _ because  _ it’s not Stiles thing.

_ Did I hurt him because I wasn’t paying enough attention?  _ Stiles wonders,  _ Or did he let me to do it so I’d feel this way?  _

His emotions swing wildly from guilt to anger as he convinces himself of one conclusion one moment and the other the next.  It seems only moments but also a lifetime pass before the first rays of sun peek through the blinds, and Stiles is wound so tightly he can’t just lie there anymore.  The sound of Eloise fussing over the baby monitor gives him a purpose.  Isaac must’ve heard her on his receiver too, because they enter the hall at almost the same moment.  Isaac’s still only in his boxers, and everything looks just as bad as Stiles remembers, down to the closed off look in Isaac’s eyes when their gazes meet.  

“I got her,” Stiles says with a nod toward the nursery.  “Could you go downstairs and get some coffee started? We need to talk.”

 

******************************

 

**Isaac tries not to think too much while he makes the coffee.  Stiles’ face didn’t give away much when they spoke, and trying to figure out what’s going through his head would just wind Isaac up even tighter in anticipation.  Whatever happens, happens at this point.  He can’t take back anything that happened last night--even if he wanted to, which he’s not sure he does.  He hears Stiles putting Eloise into the playpen and the cheerful music that emanates from one of her toys as she smashes loudly at the buttons on it.  When Stiles enters the kitchen, there’s a firm set to his jaw that has Isaac gearing up for a defense immediately.**

**“I don’t know whether to apologize or scream at you,” Stiles says finally, voice more tired than Isaac expected.  When Isaac doesn’t say anything--he’s not sure what to say to that exactly--Stiles goes on, “Just tell me the truth, did you plan that?”**

**“Last night you mean?” Isaac assumes.**

**Stiles nods, repeating, “Did you plan for things to go that way?” his voice is eerily steady, like he’s holding back.**

**“I wasn’t planning anything,” Isaac replies.  “You think I could be that kind of manipulative asshole?” he demands, more than a little hurt that Stiles could think he’d orchestrate a whole ploy in some twisted revenge plot.  “You think I sat around and** **_planned out_ ** **any of this?  You should know me better than that!”**

**“And** **_you_ ** **know me better than to ask me to--to--” Stiles gestures at Isaac, at all the still visible marks from last night.**

**“I didn’t hear anybody protesting last night,” Isaac says pointedly.**

**“You know I don’t want to hurt you, Isaac!  Why would you let me?!”**

**“Because at least last night you were hurting me with** **_permission_ ** **instead of blindsiding me with--” Isaac manages to choke off the blurted assertion after a few words, but the damage is done, words escaped before he could filter away the anger behind them.**

**“So you wanted to punish me?” Stiles says, face darkening in anger as his lip curls in apparent disgust.  “Is that it? Wait until my guard is down? In a moment I hoped was helping us go forward, a moment that was supposed to** **_mean_ ** **something, and** **_then_ ** **try to get back at me?  Because we can work through a lot of things, but twisted games like that are--”**

**“No,” Isaac answers honestly.  “No, that wasn’t--last night wasn’t about that--I didn’t** **_plan_ ** **anything, I was just going along with the move you made, ‘cause I--I thought it would be more productive to fuck than to yell at each other and you said yourself we needed to do** **_something_ ** **.  I wasn’t trying to punish you,” Isaac says.  “That’s not what was running through my head last night.”**

**“No?” Stiles asks, disbelief apparent.**

**“No,” Isaac repeats firmly.  “Look, I swear--I swear on Ellie, okay? I didn’t plan out to let you hurt me without talking to you about it first---I was just--I was enjoying losing myself in the moment.  Not having to think, just** **_doing_ ** **\--I wasn’t plotting against you or trying to punish you.  I didn’t really realize until** **_after_ ** **how far it’d gone and, well,” he hesitates, debating a moment before admitting, “Maybe I wasn’t exactly sorry that you felt bad after the fact.  But my goal going in wasn’t to make you feel that way.  I just wanted to forget about the past couple weeks for a little while.  That’s all.  I** **_swear_ ** **.”**

**Stiles stares at him with a gaze that Isaac can’t read.  He’s suddenly terrified of what happens if Stiles doesn’t believe him.  Stiles is right, if Isaac** **_had_ ** **plotted all this out, that’d be some pretty fucked up, manipulative shit that probably isn’t something you can get past in a lover--not one you want to spend your life with anyway.**

**“Say something,” Isaac bids impatiently, unable to bear the silence growing between them, but Stiles doesn’t immediately comply; he doesn’t even seem to register the words.  Isaac tries again, taking a single step closer and saying more tenderly, “Stiles?”**

**Stiles’ eyes finally shift a bit, and he purses his lips before taking in a breath and saying, “Never again.” Before Isaac can ask for clarification, Stiles goes on, “I mean if--if it’s something you like--rough sex or whatever--then, then we can talk about it--like we have before and all but--but egging it on when I’m not really realizing what I’m--” He pauses, eyes lingering on the bruises along Isaac’s collarbone.  “I didn’t appreciate what was going on,” Stiles says, “I didn’t know beforehand whether it was something that you were okay with--something** **_I_ ** **was okay with--and it just--springing it on me like that--I--we have to be able to** **_trust_ ** **each other, Isaac.”**

**“Yeah, I know.”**

**“And even if I fucked that up telling Dad and Melissa, this wasn’t--whether you meant it or not--this isn’t the way to--to build trust back up.  We gotta** **_talk_ ** **about shit. Even if it sucks and we argue and--and it feels like it’s not progress, we just--”**

**“Never again,” Isaac agrees, desperate to stop Stiles as the first inklings of guilt settle into just how deeply Isaac’s actions affected Stiles.  He’s still not sorry exactly, but he’s not proud of taking away some of Stiles’ autonomy either.  Maybe Stiles did that to Isaac, but going tit-for-tat isn’t going to fix what’s broken between them.  “And we--we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I just--I wasn’t thinking; I defaulted to how I used to be when there’s something going on I can’t handle, and then, well--by the time I thought about what we were doing, it was already done.”**

**“You defaulted,” Stiles repeats.**

**“Yeah, you know, to--to--you know, before...us.”**

**“I don’t want that to be your default,” Stiles says.  “I don’t want** **_pain_ ** **to be your default.”**

**“It’s not so bad, Stiles; don’t say it like it’s this horrible thing or whatever--I’m--it’s just a way of coping, that’s all,” Isaac replies.  “There’s two kinds of pain, the kind you can control and the kind you can’t--and--and sometimes the only way not to drown in the shit you** **_can’t_ ** **control is to remind yourself that you can at least control** **_some_ ** **things, ya know? You can control** **_some_ ** **of the pain that hits you. Like even if everything is spinning out of control, you can still feel like you get to call some of the shots, hurt on your own terms, not somebody else's, and--and it’s just another way of coping, ya know? Like--like having a strong drink or something to clear your head you just--”**

 

******************************************

 

The anger brought on by Stiles’ feeling of betrayal ebbs away as he watches Isaac start to spiral in his attempt to explain.  Stiles gets the impression that Isaac isn’t even entirely sure  _ what  _ all he’s trying to convey to Stiles, but he doesn’t stop the almost frantic rambling.  When Isaac’s left hand starts gripping into the fabric of his boxers, Stiles’ eyes follow the motion, and instantly recall the scars there, under the fabric.  Meticulous lines forming scars on both thighs, ones Stiles has wondered about but never quite dared ask.  

What had Isaac just said? _sometimes the only way not to drown in the shit you can’t control is to remind yourself that you can at least control some things, ya know? You can control some of the pain that hits you...it’s just another way of coping...like a having a strong drink…_

The realization puts a horrible ache in Stiles chest, but only renews his resolve to find some way to help Isaac manage what he’s been through that’s  _ healthy _ not--not a desperate coping mechanism because Isaac didn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t remember moving closer to Isaac, but suddenly Stiles realizes he’s reaching to cover Isaac’s hand with his own, pulling gently at his grip until Isaac releases the fabric and holds Stiles’ hand instead.

“Shit, I guess I kinda--kinda got away for a second, forget what I was babbling about it’s not important, I just--”

“It  _ is  _ important,” Stiles tells him.  “Everything that affects you is important, and not just to me.  To everybody who cares about you.  Because  _ you’re  _ important, Isaac. You’re important, and you deserve whatever help you need.”

“I’m fine, Stiles,” he replied resolutely, but with less conviction than usual.

“Nobody’s fine,” Stiles counters.  “Everybody’s trying to cope with something.  That’s what friends are for, what  _ family  _ is for.  I didn’t tell them because I wanted to hurt you. I should’ve done it differently maybe, but, I just--you’ve managed to get by for a really long time, and that’s amazing in it’s own way but,” he brings the hand not holding Isaac’s up to touch Isaac’s cheek gently and look him in the eye as he insists, “You deserve better than just getting by.”

Isaac goes stiff under his touch, and Stiles’ heart sinks at the thought that this argument is still falling on deaf ears.  In the next moment, Isaac is pulling away saying, “I can’t...I just can’t,” in a tone that trembles, apparently unable to finish whatever his protest is.  He turns away, retreating, but stops the next moment, and Stiles’ holds his breath, praying Isaac stays, that they can keep going with this talk.

“I can’t right now,” Isaac says as he turns, like he’s clarifying, taking a step back into Stiles’ space, “But I--that doesn’t mean eventually--I just--I don’t know and I can’t--” he seems to search for words and come up short, but then he leans in to kiss Stiles, chaste and brief, but poignant nonetheless.  “Okay?” Isaac asks as their lips part, eyes wide and earnest but filled with anxiety.

“Okay,” Stiles replies with a small smile, hoping he’s right to take from Isaac’s words that this has made a step away from a place where Isaac refuses help to one where he’s at least considering it.  

Some of the tension in Isaac’s shoulders releases at Stiles’ agreement, and he manages a small smile before he retreats again.  It’s a tentative peace, but Stiles will take it.  It’s more hope than he’s had in weeks, and he finally doesn’t feel like he’s lying to himself when he supposes,  _ Maybe we’ll come out the other side of this okay after all.   _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More details for those here about the trigger warning:   
> In this chapter, Isaac uses Stiles as a way to hurt himself and then later talks of his reasons for self-harm to Stiles.
> 
> Personal note from VS: As a survivor of self-harming tendencies, I want to take this time to say that if you're in that kind of place right now, you're not along even though your situation is of course unique to you. Please, please seek out the help that's available online or through in-person therapy and counseling. If nothing else, even though I know well that self-harming is not the same as being suicidal, please know that you can use the National Suicide Prevention Hotline as a safe, anonymous way for you to get support even if you're NOT at the point of suicidal ideation. (1-800-273-8255 in the US. Anyone from other countries please feel free to add similar resources in the comments!)
> 
> Take care of yourselves, loves! We hope you enjoyed this angsty, long-overdue update! And hopefully it won't be so long before another update! Keep your fingers crossed! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies as always for the long delay between chapters. Thanks for reading!
> 
> *Reminder that Stiles' POV is regular and Isaac's POV is in bold

 

“Who’s the best friend in the world?” Stiles asks as he drops a bag of In-n-Out on the park bench beside Scott.  

“It was your turn to bring food anyway,” Scott points out. “You’re not a hero, man.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Scott says.  

“Sun’s out. Gonna hang with my best bud while the munchkins gets energy out.  Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?” Stiles asks as he takes Eloise out of her wagon and sets her in the sandbox with Logan. 

Scott grins as he guesses, “You and Isaac made up?” 

Stiles shrugs as he takes a seat by Scott and starts digging in the bag for his burger and fries.  “Yeah, kind of.”

“Kind of?” Scott asks, brow furrowing in concern as his smile fades. “Is everything okay?”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t really a smooth road to reconciliation,” Stiles replies, “but it was progress.  I’ll take progress.”

Silence settles between them as they eat, and Scott makes a few attempts at small talk.  Stiles can’t quite escape his own thoughts enough to be a good conversationalist. He keeps catching Scott’s worried looks, and finally sighs in exasperation.

“I’m really fine,” Stiles says.

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Yeah, but you’re giving me the sad puppy dog look and just--knock it off.”

“But you know you can talk to me about stuff, right?” Scott replies.  “You don’t have to tell me what you’ve been fighting about. I know you said it was a private thing, but ya know, you could tell me stuff.  Just, ya know, generally or whatever?”

“I know.  I just--don’t really know how to talk about this, especially not without sounding like a total conceited jerk.”

“Well, I know you’re  _ not  _ a conceited jerk, so talk to me about it anyways? Secret’s safe with me, dude, swear.  What’s bugging you?”

“I just--I’m  _ tired _ ,” Stiles replies finally.  “Like I’m really,  _ really  _ glad that Isaac’s starting to get past being pissed at me, but this whole thing--seeing how he got when he was mad? Kind of put a new light on stuff.  I realized how much I’m like all he has--at least in his mind. ‘Cause like, I know that you guys like Isaac, and our parents they think of him as one of the family and treat Ellie like a granddaughter, but it’s like--like Isaac’s happiness, all hinges on me, and when I fucked something up it just--everything else got fucked up too.  It’s just--a lot of pressure, when I think about it,” Stiles admits. “And I can’t  _ stop  _ thinking about it.”

“It’s not your job to make him happy,” Scott reminds him.  “I mean, don’t be an asshole either, but it takes two people to make a relationship happen.   It’s not all on you, man.”

“Objectively, I know that,” Stiles replies, “but I’m still stressing about it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I think most people stress about stuff like that to one degree or another.”

“Yeah, you’re rainbow vomit relationship with Allison is real stressful, I’m sure,” Stiles says bitterly, but instantly regrets the jab.  “Sorry, dude, you’re trying to help and I’m throwing it back in your face like an ass.”

Scott shrugs.  “Things are pretty great right now, yeah,” he replies, “but they aren’t always.  I get how you feel, too. I mean--after her mom died, it was like  _ my job _ to help her through it and try to make her happy and it really is a lot of pressure because at the end of the day you can’t  _ make  _ anybody happy or change some of the circumstances that make them unhappy.  You just gotta to the best you can.”

“Yeah,” Stiles supposes, feeling even more like an asshole when he remembers the year of hell Scott went through with Allison after her mother unexpectedly committed suicide. 

“You remember what you told me when all that was going down?” Scott wonders.

“Probably something sarcastic?” Stiles guesses.

“Sure, but you’re always sarcastic,” Scott reminds with a grin.  “Seriously though, you told me trying to take care of her didn’t mean  _ not  _ taking care of myself.  That I could do both. That I  _ should  _ do both.”

Stiles smiles a little, remembering.  “I think I mostly said that in desperate hope that you’d start remembering to shower regularly again,” he teases.

“Well, you were right.  So don’t send yourself into a stress spiral, that won’t do you or Isaac any good.  Take care of him, but take care of you, too, okay? Shower occasionally and eat a veggie or two,” he suggests with a grin.  “Maybe go talk to Marin if you need,” he adds gently. “Not that I mind you talking to me or whatever, just--ya know. Professionals are good too.”

_ That’s what I’ve been telling Isaac _ , Stiles thinks.  Out loud he just says, “Yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea.  I’m due for a six month check-in at least.”

“Let me know if I can help with anything?” Scott requests.

“Of course, dude.  I appreciate it.”

“Sure.”

 

***********************************************

**“You’re in a good mood today,” Boyd comments over lunch.  “What’s up?”**

**“I can’t just be in a good mood?” Isaac replies.**

**“In theory, sure, but you’ve kind of been the poster boy for dark and broody since we started work, so the nonchalant smile is starting to creep me out a little,” he teases.**

**“Fuck off,” Isaac replies.**

**“** **_There’s_ ** **the asshole we all know and love,” Boyd says smugly.**

**“You’re just jealous because he pulls of tall, angsty, and mysterious better than you,” Kathy, the shift leader, says as she takes a seat with them at the table in the break room.**

**“Working in a cemetery for a decade or so tends to cramp your interpersonal skills with colleagues,” Isaac quips, earning a grin from Kathy.**

**“He even jokes!” Kathy says in mock surprise.**

**“Come on, I’m not** **_that_ ** **bad,” Isaac says, though he knows he most likely** **_is_ ** **that bad.**

**He’s never been an extrovert by any stretch of the imagination, and he’s been fighting with Stiles the whole time he’s worked here so that probably hasn’t made his mood any more likeable.**

**“Nah, of course not,” Kathy replies.  “You know everybody likes you, Isaac.”**

**_They do?_ ** **Isaac wonders.**

**Isaac’s surprise must show on his face because she gives him a kind smile as she says.  “You’re a hard worker. You know your stuff. You don’t start drama,” she points out. “Nobody minds if you’re a little quiet.”**

**Isaac just drops his eyes back to the burger he’s eating, unsure how he should respond.  In the end he opts for asking, “Can we talk about someone else now? You know Boyd’s got a new girl.”**

**“What?” Kathy says.  “Okay, Boyd, spill.”**

**Boyd looks so bashful Isaac almost regrets calling attention, but he seems happy enough when he grins and says.  “Yeah, she’s pretty great. We’ve only been out a few times, but who knows? Might be something.”**

**“You taking her on good dates?” Kathy asks.  “I dated a guy once who thought going to Five Guys instead of McDonald’s counted as a ‘fancy date night.’”**

**“Yikes,” Boyd says with a grimace.  “I’m guessing he wasn’t a keeper.”**

**“To say the least,” Kathy says with a huff.  “You should take her to that concert in the park this weekend,” she suggests.**

**“You’re only saying that because you’re on the planning committee,” Boyd replies.**

**“I may be biased,” she allows, “but I’m not wrong.  Besides, I’ll be there and I wanna meet her! There’s gonna be a ton of food trucks and the line-up really is a lot of the best local bands.”**

**“Fine, fine,” Boyd concedes.  “I’ll ask her about it.”**

**Kathy’s cell starts to ring, and she excuses herself to take the call.  Boyd nudges Isaac. “You and Stiles should come, too. Bring Ellie. Distract from the boss putting all her attention on me.”**

**“Maybe,” Isaac replies.  “I’ll talk to Stiles about it.”**

**“Well, even if he’s busy, you should bring the kid.  I haven’t seen her since her birthday, except the million pictures you’ve got on your phone.”**

**“It’s not a million,” Isaac protests, though it might as well be.**

**“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Boyd clarifies.  “She’s a cute kid; I’d brag, too.”**

**Isaac chooses not to mention how Boyd brags about his dog, Buddy, all the time, or how he’s got at least as many pictures of Buddy on his phone as Isaac has of Eloise.**

 

*******************************

 

Stiles walks into the apartment to the familiar smell of one of his favorite dishes.

“Is that taco stew?” he calls through the house, dropping his backpack by the front door, and heading to the kitchen to investigate.  He finds Isaac diligently stirring the giant pot they use almost exclusively for this purpose. 

“I--uh--thought I’d give it a shot, ya know, since we haven’t had it in a while.” Isaac replies with a smile that looks almost bashful.  “I know it’s usually your thing,” he goes on, starting to look a little concerned. “I’m not trying to like take over or anything, but--”

“Dude, I don’t have the copyright to the recipe,” Stiles teases, hoping to keep Isaac’s mood light.  He feels a bit like they’re on the edge of a precipice, and one wrong move could send them back down into the mire they’ve been trudging through these past weeks.  “Thanks for cooking. Plus, you’ve seen me make it about a hundred times, so you’re definitely qualified.”

Isaac doesn’t reply, but the faint smile on his face remains as he turns back to the task of stirring the stew so it doesn’t separate.  Stiles worries for a moment about the slightly awkward silence that falls between them, but he isn’t sure what to say next. It’s maybe a good thing, since he sees Isaac open and close his mouth a few times like he’s about to say something. 

“Something up?” Stiles wonders.

“Just--uh--Boyd, ya know, from work, he--uh--wanted me to bring you and Eloise to this concert they’re having tomorrow at the park on Fourth Street. Our boss is in charge of the event, and Boyd said he’d go, but he didn’t wanna be the only one from work, ya know?--but I know you’ve got school and everything, so it’s no big deal if--actually, forget I said anything.  Don’t worry about it,” Isaac finishes rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. “Nevermind.”

“‘Nevermind’ like, I’m not invited anymore? Or-” Stiles says, not sure if he feels hurt or annoyed if that’s the implication, but he’s pretty sure this is just Isaac being nervous.  Treading as lightly as Stiles has been trying to.

“No, no, not like that,” Isaac replies quickly, eyes wide in something like panic.  “I just mean--don’t--feel obligated or whatever. I know we like just got back to actually talking so...it’s cool if you don’t wanna give up half your Saturday.”

“I don’t mind,” Stiles says with a shrug and a smile.  “I could always use a break from school and an excuse to show off Eloise.  I didn’t get to talk to Boyd much at the birthday party. Plus, I haven’t had a chance to meet your boss yet. How is she?”

“She’s pretty chill.  She’s not like  _ the  _ boss.  She’s just one of the shift supervisors--like a manager I guess? She still rides out on the rigs for calls and all.  Down to earth. Good at her job. I like her.”

“I’m glad,” Stiles says earnestly.  “You like work? I mean, I know we haven’t really talked but you seem--I dunno--I get the impression it’s something you like more than working at the cemetery.”

“You mean is it worth all the night terrors and insomnia of studying for that damn test?” Isaac wonders, there’s a tone in his voice that seems to be joking, but it’s too serious a topic for Stiles to smile, much less laugh.

“No,” Stiles says, “that’s not what I meant.  There was nothing wrong with having a rough time with all that.  It was a lot of stress. You--”

“Yeah, I like the job,” Isaac interjects, stopping Stiles’ attempt at reassurance.  Stiles thinks of pursuing it anyway, but Isaac is silent for just a moment before a genuine smile crosses his face.  “I  _ really  _ like the job, actually.  Like I figured it’d be better, but like--I dunno.  It feels kinda like I’m  _ supposed  _ to be there.  Not just like a job.”

Stiles grins at the unfiltered happiness in Isaac’s face.  “Yeah? Tell me about it?” he bids. “I mean I know the general idea, but I have no idea how the whole thing works.  Like what do you do? What’s the best part?”

Isaac pauses a moment, apparently thinking before launching into what a typical day is like.  He transitions into some of the more exciting days, the cases that have been really challenging but clearly also very rewarding.  His eyes light up as he speaks, talking much more than he usually does, animated and bright-eyed. Stiles’ heart swells to realize that this clearly  _ was _ worth whatever Isaac went through to get to a place like this.  He’s glad he could manage what help he could for Isaac reaching this goal---proud of Isaac for having the wherewithal to see it through.  

Stiles is so enraptured at the sight of Isaac more happy and carefree than he’s seen him in months that it takes him longer than it should to appreciate the silence growing between them.

“Shit, did you ask me something?” Stiles says.  “I was--uh--a little distracted,” he admits, blushing a bit at being caught in a moment of adoration.

“I said, ‘why are you looking at me like that?’” Isaac tells him, looking self-conscious.  “I guess I’ve been kinda rambling.”

“It’s just--really nice to see you like this,” Stiles admits before he can think better of it.  “Happy, ya know?”

Isaac shrugs off the sentimental comment, looking something akin to embarrassed.  After a moment’s pause he admits, “It’s good to be happy.” He turns his attention back to the pot of stew he’s been neglecting to stir and asks, “What about you? How’s everything with school going?”

“More of the same,” Stiles replies with a shrug.  “At least I’ve got all of my core out of the way, so they’re all classes that are pretty relevant to what I want to do--even if they’re not the most interesting.”

“Senioritis setting in yet?” Isaac wonders.

“Dude, I’ve had senioritis since the third grade,” Stiles replies.  “I’m so ready to be done and get going. Do some  _ real  _ work and not just more hypothetical stuff.”

“Yeah, real work,” Isaac says.  “Got your application to Beacon Hills ready yet?” he wonders.  “Or is your dad making you wait until you’re officially graduated.”

“Well actually, I--uh--” Stiles hesitates, on the verge of sharing all the options his advisor pointed out to him, but reluctant to trouble the waters with the first easy going conversation they’ve had in months.  “I’m not sure,” Stiles says. 

“Not sure?” Isaac wonders.

“Well, just--I been thinking--maybe I don’t want to be working for my dad when I start off.  I know he wouldn't give me special treatment, but that’s what people would say, if I rose up really fast or got good reviews or anything, ya know? Maybe I should branch out a little more than that.”

“This guy at work, Rusty, his sister is a deputy over in San Benito.  I could ask how she likes it over there?” Isaac offers. 

Stiles is envisioning the brochures his advisor gave him---ones that beckon from as far away as the east coast, not just one county over, but he can’t tell Isaac that.  Besides, Isaac’s trying to be helpful--supportive. It’s another step in the right direction and the comfortable rhythm Stiles has ached for these past months. He forces what he hopes is a genuine smile and says, “Yeah, if you don’t mind.  That’d be cool. Thanks.”

His smile must be passable because Isaac grins back at him.  “No problem at all.”

It’s easier than Stiles expected to fall back into something akin to their old routine--playing with Ellie, a few cartoons before Isaac goes up to put her to bed.  While he’s gone, Stiles opts for a cup of tea, he’s partial to the English breakfast, but he makes Isaac a cup of Earl Grey. His reward for the effort is a shy smile on Isaac’s face when he comes into the kitchen just as Stiles is stirring a little sugar into Isaac’s and a ton of sugar into his own.

“Thanks,” Isaac says, taking the mug Stiles offers him.  

“Wanna catch up on Gotham?” Stiles wonders.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

By the time they’re through the three episodes needed to catch up, they’re both cuddling drowsily on the couch.  When Isaac starts to disentangle himself to rise, Stiles whines in protest before he thinks better of it.

“I don’t have to sleep in my old room,” Isaac says.  “We could--if you want--”

Stiles just barely refrains from rolling his eyes at Isaac’s ever-infuriating inability to vocalize what he wants, but Isaac’s said enough to make the offer clear, and Stiles heaves himself up from the couch with a fond smile, following Isaac up the stairs to their bed.  

 

******************************

 

**Saturday morning Isaac watches in barely-smothered amusement as Stiles changes his shirt for the third time.  He’s looked great in every shirt he’s had on so far, but apparently “meeting the boss” is a big deal in Stiles’ mind.  Isaac doesn’t have the heart to remind him (again) that Kathy is just a supervisor, and that technically they’re doing** **_her_ ** **the favor by going to the concert.  Besides, she’s chill and who wouldn’t love Stiles?**

**“How’s this one?” Stiles asks with a look that speaks of something akin to desperation.**

**“It looks great, Stiles,” Isaac tells him.**

**“You said that about the other two.”**

**“I** **_meant_ ** **it about the other two,” Isaac answers, with a huff.  “It’s just a chill concert in the park, and you really do look** **_great_ ** **.  You even match Eloise and me,” Isaac points out, since they’re all in shades of blue now.**

**“Oh, God, we can’t be** **_those_ ** **parents!” Stiles laments, throwing his hands up in despair.**

**_Those parents_ ** **, Isaac repeats to himself, smiling as he sips at his coffee.  A few days ago they were on the edge of a cliff, and now Stiles is offhandedly referring to them as “those parents.”**

**“It’s not like we’re in identical outfits or something,” Isaac points out calmly.  “But put the green one back on if it makes you feel better.”**

**The green one did look really nice with Stiles’ eyes, but Isaac can’t quite bring himself to admit such a sappy sounding sentiment out loud.**

**“No, we’re gonna be late anyway,” Stiles mutters.  “Ellie’s good to go?”**

**“Unless there’s been a disaster in the last five minutes,” Isaac says.**

**“Okay, let’s get going then,” Stiles says with a sigh.**

**“I’ll get Eloise,” Isaac says.  “Drink your coffee,” he adds with a nod to the termos he made for Stiles; it earns him a grateful smile that brightens Stiles face from the pout of moments before.**

 

************************************************************

 

Stiles is thrumming with both nerves and excitement by the time they find a parking spot near the park.  There isn’t as much of a crowd as he expected, and he understands why Isaac’s boss was trying to make sure people attended.  Still, it’s a lot busier than it is during their usual trips. 

They load Eloise into her wagon and follow the upbeat sound of music coming from where the temporary stage has been set up by the pond.  They aren’t holding hands--not unusual for Isaac with a crowd this big, he’s not one for PDA at all really--but Isaac’s still close at Stiles’s side.  Their shoulders brush every few steps, only adding to the smile Stiles’ can’t quite hide. Two days ago they were barely speaking, and now they’re headed to a family fun day concert, where Stiles is meeting the boss.

_ Do you believe in miracles?!  _ Stiles thinks to himself in the excited tone of the announcer from the Miracle on Ice olympic hockey game.  He adds making Isaac watch the movie to his mental to-do list. 

“You’re in a good mood,” Isaac comments with a shy, fond smile of his own.

Stiles shrugs.  “It’s a good day,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees.

The thrum of the music only adds to Stiles’ giddiness as they get closer to the stage.  Isaac reminds him to keep an eye out for Boyd, so he’s scanning the crowd from his place atop cloud nine.  His excitement has almost eclipsed his nerves, and he’s thinking that even if things don’t go perfectly meeting Isaac’s boss that nothing is going to ruin his good mood today.

Then Isaac says, “Oh hey, there’s Boyd, and I guess that’s his--wait--is that--” 

Stiles follows Isaac’s gaze, trying to understand why Isaac let the sentence trail off.  His eyes find Boyd and then take in the sight of the wavy blonde locks of the girl at Boyd’s side.  She’s facing the stage, looking away from them, but Stiles can tell why Isaac’s paused even before she turns to reveal her  all-too- familiar face. 

“Erica,” Stiles says, good mood crashing like shattered glass around him.  “Boyd’s new girlfriend is Erica.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!


End file.
